#yjyk ... threads !

there is a consistency to yohan that yanjun's always loved. he points it out whenever he can, addresses it like he would a home; the world makes little sense but he can count on this very thing, on predictable yohan and his outward feeling. every thought and opinion crosses the threshold of his lips, judgments unreserved and privy to all regardless of status or power or place. it's refreshing and familiar - yanjun himself is nothing if not loud to its very definition. it doesn't surprise him that they work well together; even the conflict is streamlined, arguments often spiralling into nothing as soon as they vocalize their point of view upfront. (and they always do.) it's in this exact circumstance however, that yanjun finds himself blindsided. the yohan he knows, the friendship he covets so dear to his heart - it is with a lurching brake that he recognizes it: sudden unpredictability. he is wide-eyed, incapable of masking his own shock, or retaining any sense of comforting ease. yohan is handsome, of course he's handsome - yanjun is of similar age and gay to boot - so it doesn't take much to be charmed. but perhaps he tailed too many assumptions, allowed his faith in yohan's consistency to hypothesize the simple thought that: if yohan liked him, he would make it clear. and yanjun is delusional and queer enough to have picked up on it, if he had - he's stubbornly certain of this. except now he doesn't know up from down or left from right. the sky is below him and the ground is scattered to the air, yanjun is gawking and yohan is in love with him. or was? it is with potent effort and a wariness of the silence accruing that yanjun closes his mouth into a thin line - flustered and visibly lost. he doesn't know what to say to this. "...what are you saying?" his tone isn't one of rudeness, only clarity, tender habit allowing himself to reach over, to touch yohan gently on the slope of his shoulder. he brushes it, rubs the muscle there like he's expecting to coax out a detailed summary and swallows, throat dry and narrow. "is this - are you telling me that..." his thumb stills on the stroke down, "yohannie, do you have romantic feelings for me?" he spells it out for both of their sake, blunt as usual, though yanjun doesn't feel particularly bold today - insides like a ball of yarn.

yanjun blinks, middle finger stilling in the midst of patting clean the lip gloss along his bottom lip. "moodboards?" it comes to him belated; he'd agreed with reluctance that gunwoo actually sleep in his own bed for once, though they'd resorted to dirty texts pushing midnight, and all notifications had been effectively swiped aside in lieu of gunwoo's messages. he feels bad in the recall, memory arriving a little foggy. he apologizes quick, fingers expertly swiping through his screen as he does so (short audio recordings sent back and forth between gunwoo and he) and pulling up the link in question. "sorry yohannie — i got distracted last night and i fell asleep immediately after but i'll take... a look." his exclamation putters into silence, when an amusingly organized pinterest board opens up, titles and sections undeniably referencing the music video in question. and there isn't anything wrong with the process, only that it's certainly new and yanjun's first thought, however potentially immature, is to find it ridiculously cute. he's scrolling through it, the images before him pleasing, but difficult to process when a dimpled smile breaks onto his features. "...you made this recently? uh — to send me?"